


Please Hang Up and Try Again

by elithewho



Series: if you would like to make a call... [1]
Category: Phone Booth (2002)
Genre: Begging, Dubious Consent, Humiliation, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Threats of Violence, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 08:19:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8971576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elithewho/pseuds/elithewho
Summary: So he’d been deluding himself into believing that he’d never hear that voice again, just like he deluded himself into thinking Kelly wouldn’t leave him. It was three days after she’d kicked him out when his phone rang. Really, he should have known better than to answer an unknown number.





	

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> now with fanart by LunarBlossom!
> 
> https://influencedotptrash.tumblr.com/post/156524687123/hand-only-shaking-a-fraction-stu-did-as-he-was

Stu had known, deep down, that he would call again. But he had tried to convince himself it wouldn’t happen, that the nightmare was over and he was free. It was the same sort of childish self-delusion that he had employed as a teenager when he got busted for skipping school and didn’t want to face his dad’s anger and fists. He’d tell himself he wouldn’t get in trouble and everything would be fine. And it was never true.

So he’d been deluding himself into believing that he’d never hear that voice again, just like he deluded himself into thinking Kelly wouldn’t leave him. It was three days after she’d kicked him out when his phone rang. Really, he should have known better than to answer an unknown number.

“Hey there, Stu. Long time, no see.”

The panic was like ice in his heart, freezing his blood. He’d just returned from the deli, a sandwich and coffee clutched in his hand. Immediately his eyes darted to the windows in his shitty little apartment. He was probably watching him right now.

“Now Stu, is that any way to greet an old friend?”

“You’re not my friend, you fucking psycho,” Stu snapped, flattening himself against the wall and flicking open the curtains to get a covert look outside.

“I told you I’d be checking up on you, didn’t I? Now how has Stuart been since we last spoke?”

Stu let out a humorless laugh, still keeping himself flat against the wall, hopefully away from the caller’s line of sight.

“I’m just great, couldn’t be better,” he muttered.

“Glad to hear you’re staying optimistic since Kelly left, Stu. I like your new place, by the way. Nothing says luxury like a sad divorced guy’s apartment.”

“Yeah, I’m glad you like it,” Stu said. He could feel sweat gather on his hairline.

“I recall telling you to stay honest, Stu,” the voice said, sterner now. 

“Yeah, yeah, I fucking remember.”

“Have you been honest, Stu? Have you treated people with respect?”

“I’ve been fucking Mother Theresa, OK?”

“Don’t lie to me, Stu,” he said, the threat in his voice bright and glaring. Stu tried hard to control his panicked breathing. “You were rude to that man at the deli, Stu, I saw you. You were short with him. He’s just trying to work hard to provide for his family and you disrespected him.”

“You’ve been following me?” he blurted out in a rush, his heart beating so hard it hurt his chest.

“Maybe. Maybe I’ve just been watching.”

Stu groaned in distress, head falling back and cracking against the wall with an audible thud.

“Who do I have to kill to make you listen to me, Stu?” the caller said calmly.

“No one, please, no one… I’ll be good, I promise, I’ll be better…” he babbled and the caller laughed cruelly.

“Promises, promises, Stu,” he said, mirthless laugh making his nerves twitch. “And there’s no need to hide behind the wall like you’re in some spy thriller, I can still see you.”

His heart, which had been hammering, seemed to stop beating in his chest.

“I can _always_ see you, Stu. Remember that.”

The call ended abruptly.

“Hello? Hello? Hey, you still there?”

There was so answer, of course. Stu paced back and forth, running a shaking hand through his sweat-dampened hair. He considered calling the police and then dismissed the idea. He couldn’t know what the caller would do and he didn’t want any more blood on his conscience. He looked down at his trembling hand, the slight tan lines where he no longer wore his wedding ring. What a mess, what a fucking mess.

 

He kept calling. Sometimes every day, sometimes he’d wait a week, leaving Stu a constant ball of anxiety, just waiting for his phone to ring. He wasn’t really doing anything else with his life. Out of a job, out of a marriage, he was pretty much just existing.

Stu searched his whole apartment for hidden cameras or microphones or whatever the fuck the caller was using to spy on him, but he was a clever motherfucker and Stu, not so much. He was so on edge, nails bitten to the quick, barely sleeping, that he’d taken to drinking during the day to keep his anxiety in check.

There he was, parked in front of the TV, beer in hand, not really paying attention to whatever stupid fucking reality show he was watching, when the phone buzzed. Unknown number.

“Hey, asshole,” he said.

“Little early in the day for happy hour, don’t you think?”

“Fuck you.”

“You seem a little tightly wound, Stu. It can’t be good for your blood pressure.”

“Yeah? How ‘bout you stop fucking calling me and threatening to kill people, you fucking lunatic.”

The caller just chuckled, like he was fond of Stu’s antics.

“Jesus, Stu, it must be ages since you’ve been laid, what with Kelly kicking you out and all. No wonder you’re so tense.”

Stu didn’t respond, too buzzed to think of anything clever. In fact, he hadn’t been laid since before he got the first call. Kelly had always been “too tired” and Pam hadn’t been putting out either. Stu scrubbed his unshaven jaw, desperate not to feel anything.

“You haven’t been jerking off as much either.”

“Oh yeah? You’ve been watching out for that, you fucking perv?”

“I’ve been watching you. Before I called you again you used to jerk off every day, sometimes twice. Now I’m lucky if you do it once a week.”

Stu could feel his cheeks burning. The looming presence of the caller in his life, watching his every move, had certainly curbed his desire to touch himself but he’d still get desperate enough to quickly tug one out in the shower some mornings. It was humiliating to the point of pain. 

“Come on, Stu, I know you want to.”

“Want to what?” he mumbled, eyes squeezed shut, as if that could block out his voice.

“Just lean back, slip a hand into your pants. You’ll feel so much better.”

“You’re sick,” he muttered, but he felt a tug low in his belly all the same. 

“Do you think I’m asking, Stu?” the caller snapped, suddenly angry. “I am _telling_ you. Unbutton your pants.”

Four weeks ago, Stu would have scoffed and resisted and wheedled and pleaded to get out of it. But the Stuart of today was a different animal. He was tired of arguing. Sometimes it was easier to just give in and do as he was told.

“OK, OK, fine,” he slurred, unbuckling his belt and pulling at the top button of his trousers.

“Those beautiful Italian suits are looking a little worse for wear, Stu,” the caller said, snickering. “Now touch yourself.”

Stu sighed thickly, glad for the buzz he was working on to make it easier. He slipped a hand in his trousers, cupping his half-hard dick through his boxers. He rubbed himself through the silk, arching into the touch just a little. It had been way too long since he’d let himself enjoy a good tug. All those desperate mornings in the shower just didn’t cut it. He was hard in no time and he struggled to muffle the soft moans he made with every stroke.

“Don’t be shy, Stu, I want to hear you,” the caller said, voice loud in his ear, entering his brain.

He took in a shuddering breath and squeezed his balls lightly through his shorts, enjoying the feeling. He moaned just a little, enough for the caller to pick up on the other end.

“Take it out,” the caller instructed. “I want to see.”

Hand only shaking a fraction, Stu did as he was told. He pushed his trousers and boxers down to mid-thigh, letting his cock spring free. He grasped the base, gave it a slow stroke, and groaned into the phone.

“Very good, Stu. I’m impressed, you’re a natural performer.”

“Fuck you,” he managed to grunt, continuing to stroke himself.

“Maybe later,” he said and Stu moaned in fear.

Sick of the taunting, Stu started jerking his dick in earnest. Make it quick, get it over with. Try to pretend he wasn’t being watched or that he could hear the caller breathing through the phone.

“Slow down, Stu, we’ve got all day,” the caller said with a small laugh.

“Fuck… you asshole.”

But his hand did slow, returned to the teasing pace he had set. His breathing had picked up, sweat prickling his skin, that pleasant hot glow of arousal cut with the sickening fear. He didn’t want to admit that it somehow heightened the pleasure, that when he lifted his hips just enough to fuck his hand, he hoped the caller was watching closely, seeing everything.

“That’s good, Stu. Now take off your shirt.”

The hand on his dick stuttered. He didn’t want to stop the agonizing rhythm.

“C’mon Stu, don’t keep me waiting,” the caller said impatiently.

His hand shaking worse than ever, Stu fumbled at the buttons on his shirt and shrugged it off, switching the phone to his other hand to shake his wrist from the sleeve. He tugged his undershirt over his head, knowing it was messing up his sweaty hair but not caring. He grabbed his cock again, thumbing the slick head and biting his lip to stifle the groan on instinct.

“You find it hard to be loud, don’t you?” the caller said, voice lower now, almost a whisper. “All those years in his parents’ apartment, young Stu had to muffle his moans whenever he touched himself, didn’t he?”

“Yeah,” was all Stu could manage. The first time his mom had caught him with a hand down his shorts, she’d beaten his knuckles with a wooden spoon so hard he couldn’t hold his pencil at school. 

“Poor little Stu, never got to really be himself,” the caller continued, voice thick with fake concern. “No wonder you’re so fucked up.”

“Yeah, you got it,” he panted. “You’re a regular fucking Freud, you know that.”

“Not your best comeback, but you’re clearly preoccupied,” the caller said, laughing. “Keep going, I want to see you come.”

Stu bit the inside of his mouth hard enough to draw blood. The hand gripping his phone was shaking, but he kept it firmly on the side of his face, hand moving faster on his cock. He thumbed the slit again, leaking slippery pre-come. 

“Are you gonna come for me, Stu?” the caller sneered. “Are you gonna come when I tell you to?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Stu ground out, breathing hard. He was so close, hand beginning to twinge from the constant motion, his balls tightening up.

“Not yet,” the caller said casually and Stu’s heart stuttered in alarm. “I said stop.”

Stu honestly couldn’t say why he complied. He just did, hand stopping, his cock throbbing from the thwarted orgasm that made his balls ache. He moaned pathetically, hips twisting restlessly.

“There’s a good boy, Stu,” the caller said fondly, sounding almost proud. “Looks like you can follow instructions.”

“You fucking piece of shit,” Stu muttered through gritted teeth.

“Do you want to come, Stu?”

_“Yes.”_

“You’re gonna have to ask nicer than that, Stu.”

Stu felt his heart drop. He was still gripping the base of his cock, muscles tensing with the overwhelming desire to come. 

“Fuck off.”

“Now you’re not even trying. Don’t make me take drastic measures, Stu. You know I will.”

His neighbor’s brains sprayed all over their couch cushions, some school kids picked off in the park across the street. The caller had threatened them all. Stu felt his guts twist painfully, cock still hard as a rock.

“Please… I want… I want to come.”

“Now that’s more like it,” the caller said with renewed enthusiasm. “I want to hear you beg.”

“ _Please_ let me come,” Stu nearly shouted, his balls feeling like they were being crushed.

“Let me think about it,” the caller said idly and Stu almost wept. “OK,” he said after an agonizing minute. “You can come.”

Stu jerked his cock hard enough to strip the skin off, grunting and groaning without even trying to stifle the sound. His hips arched off the couch, screwing his tight fist, the burn eased by his copious pre-come, enough to make his cock slide easier through his fingers. 

“You look so good like this, Stu,” the caller whispered in his ear.

The sound of his voice was all it took, and Stu was coming hard, stripes of come painting his stomach. He groaned thickly, the pleasure washing over him like a hot strobe. He lay there panting, shoulders slumped, sticky hand on his stomach, the other keeping the phone pressed to his ear.

“Very nice, Stu,” the caller said, sounding as condescending as ever. “I’m glad you’re learning to be so accommodating.”

“You… fuck…” was all Stu could manage to say.

He felt vaguely nauseous, the power of his orgasm and all the anxiety and fear tearing up his insides. But he had to admit he felt… better. OK, even. Definitely relaxed. 

“Now you have even more incentive to behave,” the caller said with a chuckle.

“What?” Stu said stupidly.

“The tape I just made of your little performance. I’m sure I can find one or two discerning retailers interested in disseminating it.”

Stu felt as though the floor had fallen away. Of course. _Of course._

“I’ll fucking kill you if I ever get the chance,” Stu said, jaw clenched tight. 

“You said that before,” said the caller, clearly unimpressed. “I enjoyed our fun today, Stu.”

Stu pulled his boxers up to cover himself, shame and self-hatred burning a pit in his stomach.

“Remember, you’ll be hearing from me.”


End file.
